


Fuck for the World

by son_of_a_bitch_spn_family



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fingering, Genderbend Destiel, Jealous Cas, Jealous Dean, M/M, Miscommunication, Not sexually tho, Porn With Plot, Wingfic, a lot of shit happens in nearly 8k ok, cause yeah, did i mention face fucking, face fucking, great idea sobs, lead with that, lets pretend Cas still has wings k, okay so, that about covers it i think, tho to be fair its only for a moment, uh, what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 18:50:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17371409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family/pseuds/son_of_a_bitch_spn_family
Summary: “What's no big thing?” Cas asks sharply, practically yanking him in the room and shutting the door, turning around and crossing his arms. He looks ten seconds from tapping his foot impatiently.“It's nothing,” Dean says, looking away and scratching the back of his neck.Cas sighs. “Elaborate, Dean, or I will be forced to draw my own conclusions. We have no idea where that will lead, so please explain.”“I'd rather you jump to conclusions,” Dean admits, shrugging sheepishly, still looking at his feet.“Okay,” Cas murmurs. “What it seems like is that you're attracted to me, and you either don't want to accept that, or you haven't realized it yet.”Dean moves and sits on Cas’ bed, keeping his head pointed towards the ground. “Let's go back to never talking about it. Isn't the world about to end again or something?”His defiance is all for naught, because Cas just walks up to him, grabs his face and forces him to look up. Dean tilts his head back and swallows, leaning away from Cas; that only proves to be a mistake, because Cas just steps forward into the space between Dean's legs, looking down at him.And there they are, just like that.





	Fuck for the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captainbunnicula (kradarua)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kradarua/gifts).



> Okay so, story-time. 
> 
> Me and a wonderful group of friends decided to do Secret Santa. I kinda brought up the idea, and the wonderful MalMuses - with her wonderful brain - helped put it into action (tbh, she did most of the work). But the whole point behind it was for our little group to connect and be kind and show love for the holidays. 
> 
> So, I was suitably excited. I got the lovely captainbunnicula (kradarua) and I immediately went out and purchased a couple of things for them. Some people allowed their addresses, if they were comfortable, some people didn't. Well, they did and so I shipped off a couple of things. 
> 
> Welp, mail is stupid and transportation should just exist already. There was mix-up and my friend didn't get anything (we fixed it, they'll get it, don't worry) so I was suitably righteous and wanted to do something while we sorted the issue. 
> 
> Hence... this. 
> 
> You know, only in fandom is smut a proper gift. They told me a couple of things, and like always, I ran with it because I have no stop-gap and cannot be contained. 
> 
> To captainbunnicula (kradarua), I hope you enjoy it, dear, and will be pleased until the gifts get to you. Hugs and kisses, friend, you're the best! ❤

Dean doesn't think jealousy is a particularly nasty emotion, not unless it's him feeling it of course. Back in high school, before he dropped out, he used to  _ live  _ for that kind of shit. He liked watching girls get jealous when he smiled at others, liked making ex-girlfriends fume with it when he got with someone else, liked seeing how much he mattered to someone. He knows it's wrong, a bit hypocritical too, but it's always been a guilty pleasure. 

 

Coming from Cas, jealousy is horrible. 

 

It had taken Dean many,  _ many  _ years to notice it. He hadn't seen it with Anna, hadn't noticed it with anyone really. He'd barely even recognized it when he was racked with it over Cas; he hadn't been able to pin down what the emotion he felt was when it came to Meg, or April, or Daphne, or fucking  _ Benjamin. _

 

Cas doesn't seem like the type to get jealous, and Dean honestly has never considered that possibility. But Sam has taken Jack to some big ass museum in Washington of all places, and he won't be home for three more days. So, it's just Cas and him, just them going out for dinner, just them looking for hunts, just them existing in each other's spaces. 

 

At first, it was actually kind of casual. They did what they always did, Sam and Jack or not. Then, Dean misses them enough to want to get out. 

 

So, dinner. 

 

The diner is nondescript, fairly slow, and just a place for them to sit around and talk about bullshit. They do that as they wait to get seated, trading sentences like passing a ball casually back and forth. 

 

“Follow me,” the hostess says, a pretty sandy-haired girl with freckles and green eyes, her smile just a bit too sharp when pointed at Cas. 

 

Dean isn't too fond of her, thinks she's kind of rude, eyeing Cas the way she is, so when she says that their server will be over soon, he grins at her. “Thank you, we'll wait for her. Have a nice day.” 

 

His words are abrupt enough to have Cas frowning at him, but Dean's suddenly sulking, so he just glares back. Cas manages to pull him into conversation about the start of humanity believing aliens weren't real, and  _ “They are, Dean. How do they think my father made only earth?”  _

 

Dean shoots him a scolding look. “People are dumb, Cas, real fucking dumb.” 

 

“Why couldn't he have… side-projects? As boundless as the universe is, and they think they're  _ alone?  _ I don't understand humans at all,” Cas gripes, looking over the menu in open annoyance. 

 

“Hey,  _ I'm  _ a human,” Dean reminds him. 

 

Cas gives him a patient look. “Well, yes, but you believe in aliens.” 

 

“You got me there,” Dean mutters, lips twitching at Cas’ obvious approval. 

 

The waitress is suddenly at the table, little notepad in hand, small smile on her face, blue eyes blinking right at Dean. “Hello,” she says, her voice a smooth timber. “What is your preferred beverage?” 

 

Cas says, “Two coffees, please.” 

 

Dean suddenly has no idea how to speak. The waitress is actually really fucking pretty. With big, blue eyes and smooth, pink lips, she looks like the very thing to save Dean from his recent dry sex-life. Her long, black hair falls in messy waves, and Dean is immediately picturing what they'll look like between his fingers. The waitress blinks at him. 

 

“Uh… yes,” he says, because…  _ yes.  _

 

She nods, then walks off, head held high with purpose. Dean watches her go, watching her thick thighs push her to the back, pushing her forward without hesitation. Cas kicks him under the table. 

 

“I'm talking to you,” Cas reminds him sharply. 

 

Dean huffs and glares. “Yes, I know, I heard. And I totally agree that the UFO sightings are fake.” 

 

Cas looks pleased that even when Dean wasn't focused, he'd listened anyway. Then, the hostess walks by, hips swinging, short hair pushed from her face, and Cas’ eyes follow after her. Dean kicks him this time, narrowing his eyes. 

 

“What was that for?” Cas asks, not sounding pained in the least. 

 

“We were talking, dude. Can we get back to the aliens, please?” Dean snaps, frowning. 

 

And so, they do. 

 

About halfway into their conversation, the waitress comes back, coffees in hand, still blinking those eyes at them. She puts the coffees down, holds out her hand, and the hostess walks back by, dropping creamers into her waiting hand, almost as an afterthought. Cas watches the hostess leave, Dean stares up at the waitress. 

 

“And what will satisfy your hunger today?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. 

 

Dean puts on his biggest smile. “Many things. What would you suggest?” 

 

She blinks at him again. “The meatloaf is our top seller. By estimate, I'd say that it's good. Would you like that?” 

 

“He wants the burger with onion rings and a slice of pie for dessert, the apple if you have it,” Cas tells her, looking up her, blinking. 

 

They blink at each other, and Dean suddenly has a moment of complete confusion. It's almost as if he's seeing double for a second, and for some reason, the thought scares the absolute shit out of him. So, he pushes the realization on the edges of his mind away, and nods up at her. 

 

“Yeah, he's right. Just get him fries.” 

 

Cas also nods, and she seems to deem that worthy enough and leaves. Dean and Cas immediately look at each other and narrow their eyes. 

 

“What?” Cas snaps. 

 

“I could've ordered for myself.” 

 

“As could I.” 

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “You were a bit busy, looking over at the hostess.” 

 

Cas rolls his eyes back, just as hard. “And you were gaping up at the waitress like an idiot. Moving on, can you explain to me why cars aren't flying yet? The technology is most definitely available.” 

 

Dean is so offended by such a statement that he forgets the hostess and the waitress altogether. Cas listens to him rant, arguing when Dean's being set in his ways, considering when he has good points. The conversation flows between them, a bickering of sorts, but mostly just  _ them.  _

 

Then the food is brought out. The waitress carries all the plates, but the hostess follows behind with the coffee pot, no doubt giving refills. They automatically lean back from where they'd drawn closer in the heat of their conversations, letting the waitress set the plates down. 

 

Dean watches the waitress. 

 

Cas stares at the hostess. 

 

And Dean considers it, thinks about flirting, mulls over setting up a time to blow off some steam. Or, he can try and set Cas up with the hostess, so it can happen tonight; he's clearly interested. But that thought doesn't quite sit right with him, so he drops it altogether. 

 

Right in the knick of time too, because the hostess throws her arm over the waitress’ shoulders and draws her in for a quick kiss as they walk away. Dean watches the waitress’ face soften for the very first time the whole evening, and he blinks rapidly. 

 

“Jealousy doesn't look good on you,” Cas tells him, expression sour, voice needling and annoyed. 

 

Dean snorts. “Shut up, you're one to talk.” 

 

Cas rolls his eyes, and they sit in silence for the whole meal. Dean doesn't even feel up to eating the pie, so they leave a little earlier than expected. The ride home is silent as well, and they're tense. Dean's not quite sure why they're so pissed at each other, but if Cas isn't going to stop being a brat, neither is he. With each mile they put behind them, their annoyance grows more palpable. 

 

When they finally get to the bunker, they slam Baby's doors and march into the kitchen. Cas fiddles with the coffee machine, maybe just to do something with his hands because it's too late for coffee, and Dean wenches the fridge open to grab a beer. He takes a few gulps, glaring over the bottom at Cas. 

 

“She was pretty, wasn't she?” Cas bites out. 

 

And that sounds like an accusation, one Dean doesn't like  _ at all.  _ “Yes, she was,” he agrees harshly, slamming his beer bottle down. “The hostess was just fucking adorable, wasn't she?” 

 

Cas swings around to face him, eyes narrowed into slits. “Very aesthetically pleasing, yes.” 

 

“A bit too aggressive for me,” Dean scoffs, jaw jumping as he looks away. 

 

“The waitress was eccentric,” Cas states flatly. 

 

“The hostess flirted too much.” 

 

“The waitress didn't flirt  _ at all.”  _

 

Cas settles a severe look on him. “They were dating, Dean. What's the point of this conversation?” 

 

Dean gives an exaggerated shrug, tipping his head side to side, throwing a sarcastic smile in for good measure. “There isn't one, Cas.” 

 

“Fine, I'm going to bed,” Cas says, voice thin, apparently forgetting he doesn't need to sleep. 

 

“Good,” Dean retorts, shrugging again. 

 

Cas releases a long breath through his nose and walks right out the kitchen, leaving Dean glaring after him. Immediately after he's gone, Dean sags and frowns at his beer bottle. He feels annoyed, but in a different way, and all he wants to do is shove his head under a pillow and groan himself into a nap. It takes a moment, then he realizes he's  _ pouting.  _

 

Jesus, he really  _ does  _ need to get laid. 

 

“Actually,” Cas snaps, suddenly stomping back into the kitchen, wearing a stormy expression and scaring the shit out of Dean, “there  _ is  _ a point. She looked like me! The waitress, she-” 

 

“Nope,” Dean says, interrupting him immediately, waving a hand in the air like he can bat the statement away. 

 

Cas isn't letting this go. “Yes, she did. Her eyes weren't quite as blue, her hair was longer, but she looked like me.” 

 

Okay,  _ fine.  _

 

“Well, the hostess looked like me,” Dean challenges, shoving a hand at Cas. “She had freckles, green eyes, same hair color.” 

 

Cas does not look suitably surprised enough at the observations. “We're not talking about that.” 

 

“Shut up, yes we are.” 

 

“The waitress-” 

 

“ _ Shut up,  _ the hostess even  _ acted  _ like me, so whatever judgements you're making-” 

 

“I'm not; there was no judgements made. I'm just saying that-” 

 

“Well, don't,” Dean snaps, crossing his arms defensively. He's not entirely sure what direction they're headed in, but he knows it's gonna be a bitch, so he insists, “Just shut up.” 

 

Cas doesn't fucking listen to anybody, not heaven, not God, not  _ anyone,  _ only Dean on very rare occasions. This is not one of those moments. 

 

“Make me,” Cas says. 

 

It sounds like a suggestion, an offer, and a challenge all in one. Dean isn't sure what Cas wants from that particular statement, but he knows it can't be any good. He sucks in his lips, locks his muscles, and very carefully shakes his head. 

 

“No, no,  _ nope,”  _ Dean tells him, very firmly on the side of not continuing this conversation. “That's a horrible idea. I would- I dunno, but we'd fight and be mad for days, and who wants that?” 

 

Cas rolls his eyes. “I'm not shutting up. So, the waitress acted like me too, and isn't that just… strange? What's worse-” 

 

And okay, that's the kinda bullshit Cas is supposed to be shutting up about. Dean reaches out and grabs the beer bottle, jolting his arm so the beer will sail out and splash into Cas’ face. For a moment, he closes his eyes, very obviously annoyed, and Dean has a strange moment of not knowing why he did what the fuck he just did. Then, Cas opens his eyes, blue blazing with absolute anger, and Dean shrinks back, thinking this would be a pretty shitty time for Cas to kick his ass. He'd rather the beer be  _ in  _ him than on Cas, and he'd probably do something stupid, like lick Cas’ face, and no,  _ nope.  _

 

“Dean,” Cas growls, scolding him. 

 

Dean puts the beer bottle back down, holding up his hands and smacking on false bravado. “Told you to shut up, dude.” 

 

Cas snaps his fingers, and he's suddenly dry, free of the beer. He barrels on, unperturbed. “Why can't we talk about this? We should talk about this.” 

 

“Why? So, people sometimes look like us, whatever. Who cares?” Dean huffs, rolling his eyes. 

 

“You liked her almost  _ instantly,  _ and I think-” 

 

“Stop thinking.” 

 

“Can't, won't. So, she looked like me, and acted like me, and you  _ definitely  _ were-” 

 

“Oh god, please shut up.” 

 

Again, Cas tries, “Make me.” 

 

“What are we,  _ fifteen?  _ This is so not a big deal; I'm going to bed,” Dean mutters, pushing himself off the counter he leaned against. 

 

Cas steps in front of the doorway and stops, arching an eyebrow. Dean stops a few paces away, suddenly very tense. Cas doesn't appear to be moving, but they can't just  _ stand  _ there all night. Though Cas actually can, Dean can't. But moving away, or even going to the table to fall asleep feels like defeat. 

 

Cas sets his jaw. “I'm not shutting up.” 

 

“Dude, this isn't even-” 

 

“She looked like me.” 

 

“Yes, you have said that one hundred fucking times. What's your point?” Dean growls, throwing his hands up in blatant anger. 

 

“She looked like me, and you looked at her like you wanted to take her somewhere and have sex,” Cas tells him in his most serious voice. 

 

The conversation is hitting a bit too close to the things he's trying to avoid thinking about, so Dean what he always does. He deflects. “If the hostess had offered, you would have fucked her right there on that table, and she looked like  _ me,  _ so what's your point, Cas?” 

 

“Probably,” Cas agrees mildly, not seeming ashamed in the least. 

 

And  _ fuck,  _ that's just a great mental visual, isn't it? The hostess laid back on the table, Cas fucking into her with parted lips, tact be damned. Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head vigorously, trying to dislodge the images.  _ We don't think of our friends that way, Dean,  _ he reminds himself mockingly. 

 

Dean forces out a rough, “Whatever, it doesn't matter. Again, what's your point?” 

 

Which, that's the stupidest thing he's ever said, because given the opportunity, Cas will take something Dean doesn't want to focus on and bring it right out in the light to inspect. 

 

“She was like me in many ways, and you reacted to her strongly. That suggests that she is your “type”, which also suggest that  _ I  _ am your-” 

 

“Nope, stop, go back to shutting up.” 

 

“I haven't shut up once,” Cas reminds him. 

 

“Well, you should start now,” Dean hisses, crossing his arms. “We are  _ not  _ talking about this.” 

 

Apparently they are, because Cas continues on like he was never interrupted. “I'm your type.” 

 

“You're a man,” Dean says immediately. 

 

“You like men,” Cas replies, sending Dean a look that says,  _ “how stupid do you think I am?”  _

 

Dean grits his teeth. “I don't like men. I've never been with a man, I don't plan to-” 

 

“You notice men,” Cas corrects himself, waving the topic away, “which stands to mean that I'm your type, sexually at least. Though, if you think about it, I'm not technically a  _ man _ in the sense of the word.” 

 

“You're my best friend, Cas,” Dean says softly, dropping his arms. “It's not just- it  _ wouldn't  _ be just sex with you, okay?” 

 

Cas pauses to think that over. “It's not that you don't want me sexually, it's that you don't want  _ me.”  _

 

Dean says, “Yeah, exactly.” 

 

Immediately after the words are out, Dean wants to take them back, because they're not exactly true if he allows himself to think about it, and because for a split second, just  _ one,  _ Cas looks hurt. Before Dean can backtrack and fix it, Cas blinks at him, and Dean realizes that it isn't that Cas looks like the waitress that bothers him, it's that the waitress looks like  _ Cas.  _

 

Fucking awesome. 

 

“That's all you had to say,” Cas murmurs, sounding almost scolding, but mostly upset. 

 

Dean has no idea how to fix this, or that look on his face, so he says nothing. Cas finally gives a sigh and turns around, walking right out of the room, closing whatever window of opportunity Dean has. With a final click, it snaps shut, and Dean is suddenly very annoyed by that. 

 

So, he gets up and follows after Cas. The door to his room is just shutting, and Dean catches it with his fingers, holding it open. Cas peers through the crack of his door with one squinty eye, suspicious and obviously annoyed. 

 

“I'm sorry,” Dean tells him softly. 

 

The door starts to close. 

 

“Nothing to be worry for,” Cas says. 

 

“Lying is wrong.” 

 

The door pauses. 

 

“You were right.” 

 

The door opens a bit more. 

 

“You're my type,” Dean finally admits, trying not to tip over with the weight of the words.

 

But the world doesn't end, and the door opens all the way, and Dean still feels like himself, so he forces himself to stand there.  _ Honesty, _ he thinks,  _ now there's a thought. _ Cas looks at him curiously, scanning him for lies no doubt. 

 

“And?” Cas murmurs. 

 

Dean blinks. “Okay,  _ fine.  _ You're my type, and the waitress was my type because you're my type.” 

 

It's Cas’ turn to blink. He tips his head to the side, eyes going squinty again, this time in confusion rather than annoyance. “I never said that.” 

 

“What?” Dean blurts, chest suddenly going pinch-tight, making it hard to breathe. He's mistepped somewhere, let something out that he hasn't even realized yet, and he has no clue what, but it's fucking terrifying. 

 

“I never said that you liked her because of me; I merely suggested you might like me because you liked her,” Cas hums, leaning against the door and watching him with a flickering smile. 

 

Dean coughs. “Welp, goodnight! I'm gonna head to bed and probably punch myself, no biggie. See you in the morning!” 

 

_ Or maybe die in my sleep, and then never have to deal with this at all,  _ Dean thinks, starting to leave. 

 

“Dean, stop,” Cas chuckles, reaching out and halting him from moving, “just  _ talk  _ to me.” 

 

That's the last thing he wants to do, but he manages to mumble, “No big thing, Cas.” 

 

“ _ What's  _ no big thing?” Cas asks sharply, practically yanking him in the room and shutting the door, turning around and crossing his arms. He looks ten seconds from tapping his foot impatiently. 

 

“It's nothing,” Dean says, looking away and scratching the back of his neck. 

 

Cas heaves a sigh. “Elaborate, Dean, or I will be forced to draw my own conclusions. We have no idea where that will lead, so please explain.” 

 

“I'd rather you jump to conclusions,” Dean admits, shrugging sheepishly, still looking at his feet. 

 

“Okay,” Cas murmurs. “What it  _ seems  _ like is that you're attracted to me, and you either don't want to accept that, or you haven't realized it yet.” 

 

Dean moves and sits on Cas’ bed, keeping his head pointed towards the ground. “Let's go back to never talking about it. Isn't the world about to end again or something?” 

 

“Dean,” Cas chides lightly. 

 

“No,” Dean replies. 

 

His defiance is all for naught, because Cas just walks up to him, grabs his face and forces him to look up. Dean tilts his head back and swallows, leaning away from Cas; that only proves to be a mistake, because Cas just steps forward into the space between Dean's legs, looking down at him. 

 

And there they are, just like that. 

 

Dean hasn't been in this position in a long time, and it feels incredibly intimate. Cas’ trenchcoat brushes his knees, his fingers settle softly against his jaw, and his head is tipped down as he blinks those stupidly blue eyes. Dean stares up at him and does his damndest to fucking  _ breathe.  _

 

“Dean?” Cas asks carefully. 

 

Dean doesn't know what to say, because his mind is absolutely blank, because he can't get his body to do something. He feels everything, a completely foreign desire, panic, uncertainty,  _ hope.  _ But Dean can't even begin to decipher any of that, so he just sits there, staring up at Cas and failing at breathing properly. 

 

Discomfort flashes across Cas’ face, and he makes to move away, just a small shuffle back. Dean isn't thinking, and his body isn't working, so he's as surprised as Cas when his hands come up and slide into his trenchcoat, gripping his hips, halting him. Cas goes very still, and Dean drops his head from Cas’ hands, letting the top of his head land against Cas’ ridiculously firm, yet soft stomach. 

 

“No,” Dean croaks again, voice wrung out and rough. 

 

Cas strokes his fingers through Dean's short hair, making a small humming noise. “It's okay, Dean. Everything is fine.” 

 

But it not; nothing is  _ fine.  _ Because Dean's attraction became obvious through jealousy of all fucking things, and because it's not  _ just  _ attraction, and his heart hurts with it. There are things at the corner of his mind, peeking out, peering at him, things he has never acknowledged, things that scare him all the way to his core. 

 

Dean looks up into Cas’ puzzled expression and breathes out, “I'm sorry.” 

 

And he is. He's sorry for caring as hard as he does, sorry for wanting things he shouldn't be able to have, sorry for denying it like it's something to be ashamed of. He's sorry for everything that's going to come after, the pain and loss and  _ damage _ . Because it's him, and that's what he brings. 

 

Cas looks at him like he sees, face crumbling like he can't  _ stand  _ it. His lips tremble, and he goes very still, like a spring wanting to break loose. And then, it does; Cas suddenly falls to his knees, gets eye level, grabs Dean's face, and draws him close. 

 

Their lips touch, just barely there pressure, and Dean closes his eyes, sighing against the kiss. He sort of sags into it, his body giving out, but Cas holds him up, pressing into him more insistently. 

 

It's not until Cas’ lips pry his apart, tongue darting out to trace his lower lip, that Dean's relief falls away completely. Desire rushes in, clouding his mind, and he jolts up, shoving himself closer and reciprocating. His hands had been displaced earlier, but they move to grasp at Cas’ neck and hair, tugging, pushing, guiding. Heat pools low in his abdomen, and the arousal strikes quickly, making him hard in seconds, almost shockingly quick. There's no need to coax himself to pleasure, not this time; Cas moans into his mouth, and his dick is instantly awake. 

 

Dean's mouth moves from Cas’ lips, latching onto his jaw, then neck, then ear, and Cas chokes out, “Okay,  _ okay.”  _

 

Dean's not exactly thinking, or even listening, high off the way Cas’ body arches into his, and his lips find spots to suck at, no doubt leaving marks. And there is a small part of him that wants to leave hickeys all over Cas, just mark him up for the whole world to see, a sign that screams,  _ he's taken, see!  _ Nonetheless, he manages to pull himself back, gaping at Cas like it's him who'd attacked his neck. 

 

“Oh fuck,” Dean chokes out, eyes going wide. 

 

Things sort of fall apart the moment he gets sight of Cas’ lips, thick and perfect and so utterly obscene that it actually kinda makes him want to cry. To add insult to injury, or a twitch to his dick, Cas licks his lips and stares up at him through his lashes, very clearly unintentional sexiness oozing out of him just because he's  _ Cas.  _ Dean nearly dies, or comes, or gets up and walks away, because Cas is most certainly a ride he can't just get off of once he's strapped himself in. 

 

Cas growls out, “What do you want, Dean?”

 

Any concerns or warnings are gone from Dean's mind in a flash. Cas’ voice is  _ wrecked,  _ and that's definitely unintentional too, and Dean has absolutely no self-control, because he says the first thing that flashes through his idiotic brain. 

 

“I really want to fuck your mouth.” 

 

Without thinking, he reaches out and runs his hands over Cas’ bottom lip, absolutely entranced by the way it catches on his finger and follows. Then, the words catch up with him, and Dean snatches his hand back so fast that he almost takes Cas’ lip with him. Cas just licks his lips again, eyes narrowed in consideration. 

 

Before Dean can apologize or make his escape, Cas gives a slow nod, says, “Okay.” 

 

Dean blinks, everything coming to a halt. The first thing he registers is a mental image of his dick sliding between Cas’ lips, and he knows there's absolutely  _ no way  _ he's gonna be able to stop himself if Cas is serious. Which, he appears to be, if the way he sits back on his haunches and waits is anything to go by. Dean waits until he can breathe before he even attempts to talk. 

 

“You serious, Cas?” 

 

“I wouldn't joke about this.” 

 

Cas is right, but Dean still pauses. “We should, I dunno, talk about this,” he suggests carefully. 

 

Cas ignores him, reaches across the space between them to start undoing Dean's belt. His fingers are quick and rough, yanking with an urgency that Dean's been matching since Cas kissed him. He even lifts his hips, helping him get the angle to yank his pants down and away. 

 

There's a brief moment where Cas pauses, fingers hovering over his boxer-briefs, and Dean thinks it would be a great place to stop, to forget it ever happened, and call it a night. And then, Cas moves the underwear away like they offend him, grabs his dick without hesitation, and Dean swallows a curse, forgetting his earlier thoughts immediately. 

 

“Do it,” Cas orders, voice rougher somehow, like Baby's tires over gravel. 

 

Dean's way past the point of stopping, so he stumbles to his feet, trying not to trip over the pants still around his ankles. Cas helps him get out of them, shoving them away, and goes back to leaning on his feet, head tilted back,  _ waiting.  _

 

Dean takes himself in his hands, guides the path that leads him to Cas’ lips, and pauses. As if knowing Dean needs permission, Cas licks his lips and lets them fall open, tongue visible, teeth tucked away. Somehow, even though it Cas’ mouth that's about to get fucked, it feels like Dean is the one being told what to do. There isn't a clearer order if he's ever seen one, so he pushes forward. 

 

He watches his own dick slip between those impossibly perfect lips, sliding in slowly, and his knees almost buckle. Cas’ mouth stretches around him, hot and wet, perfect and pink. Dean takes in a shuddering breath and slowly pulls out, rolling his way back in just as carefully. When he pulls out again, Cas frowns up at him. 

 

Dean is struggling to breathe, but manages to gasp out, “What? Am I- are you… what?” 

 

“You can go faster, Dean, and you can touch me. I will not break,” Cas tells him seriously. 

 

Right. Okay. 

 

Dean reaches down and runs his right hand through Cas’ fucking silky, smooth hair, knitting his fingers there for more support than anything. Then, he pushes his way back in, groaning at just how amazing it feels. Cas goes pliant, mouth open, humming, just taking it like it's another part of his day. Dean thinks a bit deliriously,  _ it should be, fuck, we can make this a goddamn routine.  _

 

Legs shaking, he stands there and fucks Cas’ ready mouth, just staring in awe at Cas’ lips wrapped around his dick. Pleasure builds and builds, growing like waves being yanked to shore, higher and harder, and Dean can't stop himself from gripping Cas’ hair tighter, rolling his hips faster and faster. 

 

“Oh fuck,” Dean gasps, staring down at the absolute blasphemy that's happening right now. 

 

Cas hums around him, reaching up to grab his thighs, then he starts bobbing his head with abandon, taking over where Dean gives up. Cas fucks his mouth onto Dean's dick like it's a battle he's determined to win, sucking, hollowing out his cheeks, making happy noises that vibrate through every single one of Dean's nerve-endings. 

 

Dean can feel just how close he is, so he gives a sharp yelp and stumbles back, forcing himself away so fast that he lands on the bed. Cas doesn't seem to mind, just pops up and starts taking his clothes off. It's rushed, his trenchcoat ends up across the room, and he stares at his tie with narrowed eyes, clearly considering the implications of its uses during sex, but apparently deciding not this time. 

 

_ This time.  _

 

Dean is suddenly very aware that he hopes there will be a next time and endless times. And not just sex, but everything. His heart cracks open, and he realizes in a strange swirl of hope, panic, and arousal that  _ this -  _ specifically this - was why he'd been avoiding anything with Cas. 

 

One touch, one moment, and he has to deal with the fact that he's in love with him. 

 

“Take off your shirt,” Cas says, yanking his button-up away, kicking it across the room with his bare foot. 

 

But he's here now, and he wants this so desperately, so he does as Cas tells him. The shirt is tossed somewhere Dean doesn't care to remember, and he's naked then, just sitting on Cas’ unused bed without a scrap of fabric on him. He has the strangest urge to giggle. 

 

He never gets the chance to react at all; Cas moves closer, pushing him back and crawling up the length of his body, settling to straddle Dean's hips. They stare at each other, green locking on blue, and something tangible with desire passes between them. Then, Cas swoops down and kisses him fiercely, diving into Dean's mouth with filth, oh so needy, hands moving all over him, exploring, curious. 

 

Cas only tears himself away to lean over to the bedside table, cursing roughly as he digs through it, then holding lube up like it's fucking made of gold. Dean stares at it, amazed, kinda wanting to know why Cas has it, why it's half-empty, and what exactly is his plans with it. But Cas just squirms backwards on his lap until he can grip both of their dicks together and pour a long stream of lube over them. 

 

Dean chokes. “Shit, Cas.” 

 

Cas sends him a look, deliberately being flirtatious this time, and  _ why does Dean know that?  _ Dean's stuck between being in complete awe at their dicks being trapped in Cas’ hand, and feeling utter confusion at how he can  _ already  _ figure out when Cas does sexy shit on purpose or not. 

 

Cas does not give a shit about his internal dilemma. 

 

He smooths the lube over them, eyes fluttering, rocking his hips back and forth. Dean wheezes, trying to remember to breathe, and pleasure shoots through him relentlessly. He tosses his head back, too gone on how Cas looks rolling his hips and fucking their dicks into his hand, but Cas’ pillows are stacked so torturously wonderful that he can still fucking  _ see  _ what's going on. 

 

Cas forces his eyes open, bites his lip, and just  _ looks  _ at Dean, stares at him like he's never been hungrier for anything in his entire existence. Dean knows he must look dumb as fuck, mouth hanging wide open, fists clenched into the cover, hips jerking up when pleasure slams into him every other second. Cas just stares at him like he's never seen something so amazing before, which  _ can't  _ be true, but that's just as amazing to see as it is to watch them both fuck Cas’ slick fist at the same time. 

 

And they both move faster, whimpers and moans slipping out shamelessly as they rut against each other, trembling and pleading mindlessly. Then, Dean's mouth makes a strange garbled sound, and his vision goes out for a moment when he comes, spilling out onto Cas’ hand. He realizes a few seconds later, once he comes back to himself, that he hadn't went blind, he'd merely closed his eyes. 

 

He opens them now, panting as he watches Cas keep on going, rolling his hips like he’s meant for it. He'd released Dean's dick, somehow aware that the overstimulation would hurt, and just kept right on fucking his fist. It looks like it could be awhile if Dean's honest with himself, and he's in a cuddly mood now - like he usually is after sex. 

 

Without really thinking it through, Dean reaches up and grabs Cas’ hips, clenching him tight and turning them both over. Cas doesn't seem to care that he's now on his back, Dean hovering over him, he just keeps right on giving himself pleasure. It looks like he knows what he's doing, like he's done it before, and Dean wonders if he's ever done anything else. 

 

Biting his lip, Dean stares down at Cas and  _ considers.  _

 

Dean has watched porn, a lot of it, all kinds. So, yeah, he's seen gay porn, knows how it works, what goes where, and how good they make it look. Though only having experienced this one moment himself, he has to agree. And as strange as the concept is to him, the dudes he's watched seem to really like things in their ass. 

 

_ The prostate, Dean, Jesus,  _ he reminds himself, exasperated and a bit high off an orgasm. 

 

Right. 

 

So, there's lube, and Dean has fingers, and he's fucking  _ curious,  _ okay? Sue him. 

 

Cas is still going at it, head tossed back, gasping as he moves his hand faster and faster, then slows, whimpering as his hips jolt. Dean wonders how long he can hold himself back from coming, vaguely curious on how  _ that  _ can feel anything but painful, but Cas looks blissed out, so… maybe he'll try it. 

 

Either way, he's gonna push him along a bit, because Dean's still dopey, and he wants to hold Cas and kiss him sweetly before worries settles in. So, he grabs the lube and pushes himself down Cas’ body, settling his head on his thigh. The muscle quivers under his cheek, thick and shaking, and Dean gives it a small nip with his teeth. 

 

Cas only whimpers as response, speeding his hand up  _ yet again.  _ Casually as he can manage, Dean reaches over to the leg he's not draped over and nudges it away, pushing and pushing until there is enough space for his hand to get to Cas’ ass. 

 

Just to make sure Cas is in his right mind, he asks him, “Is it okay if I-” 

 

“Anything,” Cas gasps at him, lifting his head to look blearily down at him, chest heaving. 

 

Okay, awesome. 

 

Back to his earlier curiosity, Dean reaches between Cas’ legs and searches out with a finger. He pulls back to quickly douse basically his whole hand in lube, kinda scared to hurt Cas, and goes back to what he was doing. He spreads, find what he's looking forward, and pauses, waiting for any negative reaction from Cas. 

 

Cas doesn't give one, just spreads the leg Dean isn't on open more, and pumps his fist a bit slower, shuddering right where he is. Taking that as it is, Dean slowly slides in one finger. Once inside, he just pauses and watches Cas. He just squirms, still focused on his dick, kind of lost in the gaping chasm of his pleasure. 

 

Dean takes it really slow, making sure to be careful. There's something enchanting about the way Cas looks while in the middle of such pleasure, all wanton desire, gasping breaths, trembling body. But soon, Cas starts rocking his hips in a way that has him moving faster on Dean's finger, so he picks up the pace, listening to Cas whimper louder and louder. 

 

He adds a second finger warily, going slower in tune with Cas’ hand, and jolting when Cas twists on the bed, back arching up, whole body shivering. He's not sure if that's good or not, but then Cas lays back down, panting and slowly starting to move his hand again. So, Dean does too, watching carefully. 

 

Cas’ hand speeds up, his eyes rolling back, mouth dangling open, and Dean matches his pace, still trying to be gentle. Faster and faster, Cas gets louder and more urgent, stroking himself and twisting his hand, fucking himself down on Dean's fingers. 

 

Dean catches the moment he'll let go. Cas’ hand twitches, twists and tightens around the head of his dick, and Dean curls his fingers up. 

 

Cas fucking  _ howls.  _

 

Dean's mouth pops open in shock when Cas comes hard, nearly the whole top-half of his body rising off the bed as his head dips back, and he just  _ screams.  _ It can't be pain; that's most definitely a scream of pleasure, one Dean  _ never  _ expected Cas to make. 

 

It splinters off as his dick stops twitching, and he slowly lowers back to the bed, breathing heavily. Dean lifts his head off Cas’ thigh and stares, waiting for some kind of explanation because  _ fuck.  _

 

Cas just lifts a trembling hand and waves it, disappearing all the mess and lube liks it's a fucking afterthought. His hand drops against his chest, rising and falling fast, then slowing. 

 

“Cas?” Dean asks. 

 

Cas grunts at him, mumbles, “Hush, Dean. Post ejaculation allows me five minutes of sleep.” 

 

With that, Cas promptly falls off into sleep, light snores and all. Dean blinks at him. 

 

“Well, alright then,” Dean murmurs, huffing as he crawls up beside Cas, curling into his side in a way to not disturb him. 

 

Five minutes. He can allow himself five minutes of not freaking out, or second-guessing, or trying to run away from the situation. Instead, he puts his head on Cas’ shoulder and stares at his side-profile. Cas is incredibly pretty, that Dean can admit to himself, and he's even prettier when he's shouting at the top of his lungs as he finds release. 

 

Dean's dick gives an exhausted, yet interested twitch, and he looks down to glare at it. 

 

Cas makes a small snuffling noise, something annoyed and comfy all in one, and Dean focuses back on him, smiling. This is the first time he's ever seen Cas sleep like this, completely spent and relaxed. It makes him stupidly happy for some reason, causes his chest to go warm and tight. 

 

_ Because you're in love with him,  _ his mind provides, like the asshole it is. 

 

Dean ignores it, because he has a few more minutes that he'd rather spend looking at Cas. And he does. However, those minutes come to an abrupt end, and Cas’ eyes snap open, fully alert and aware, landing on Dean immediately. Dean quickly wipes away the sappy look that's no doubt on his face. 

 

“Dean,” Cas greets, blinking his blue eyes, like winking skies, “were you watching me sleep?” 

 

Dean scoffs. “No,” he lies, glaring. “I didn't know you could sleep.” 

 

“After a very tiring orgasm, I can.” 

 

“And just how did you figure  _ that  _ out?” 

 

Cas arches an eyebrow at him. “Exploration,” he murmurs softly, and fuck, he makes it sound like a whole new sin Dean won't be able to avoid. 

 

“Right, okay. So… we should probably talk,” Dean mutters, pushing away to sit up. 

 

“I'm your type,” Cas says, like that's an answer to all their problems, and he sounds so pleased that Dean turns to gape at him. 

 

“Yeah, no shit,” Dean growls. “We kinda worked that out with all the  _ sex,  _ Cas.” 

 

Cas hums, still pleased. “Well stated.” 

 

Dean drags a hand down his face. “You're being way too calm about this; we're best friends, and we just fucked, and you're acting like it's no big deal. But it  _ is  _ a big deal, Cas. It's the biggest deal, because we shouldn't do shit like that. It's not some game we can just play when you want a nap, or something we can just forget. It's- it's  _ there,  _ and you're gonna be fine about it, but I can't. I won't be able to let this go; I _ told  _ you it was more than sex for me. And we still did it, and now I have to be the one in love, while you're fucking  _ fine,  _ looking at hostess’ and- and-” 

 

Dean chokes off his words, eyes going wide, hand coming up to cover his mouth. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck.  _ He wants to eat the words, wants to snatch them right back out of the air. There's his panic, and fear, and goddamn worries, laid out there for Cas to see and later discard. 

 

Cas sits up, leaning against Dean's shoulder, reaching up to pull his hand away. “Hey, shh, stop it. Why do you assume you're the only one in love?” 

 

Dean looks at Cas, throat bobbing, heart hanging on thin strings, just waiting for Cas to reach out and cut them away. But Cas doesn't seem to care for breaking his heart; he just reaches out and cups his cheek, looking at him with undeniable devotion and reverence. Dean takes in a shaky breath. 

 

“I dunno, Cas, you're my best friend, and I need you. Fuck, I need you so much, but you're this  _ thing,  _ this impossible force that I don't even feel like I know.” 

 

“Because I'm an angel?” 

 

Dean gives an awkward shrug. “Maybe. I've never been apart of that, and I've never had all of you. How can I possibly even begin to think- to hope that you-” 

 

Cas closes his eyes and drops his hand from Dean's face, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. For a moment, Dean thinks that Cas is fed up with him already, is about to send him away, is going to just toss him aside without care. But then, Dean catches something out of the corner of his eye, something like a shadow, something like a flicker. 

 

“Look, before they're gone,” Cas grits out, face scrunched up as if in pain. 

 

And Dean realizes a beat later that what he's looking at is  _ wings.  _ Big ass wings, just draped through the whole room, a blot amongst the walls. They look like a shadow, like the very first time he seen them, but they're denser now; Dean can feel them in the air. 

 

“Can I?” Dean breathes in childish amazement. 

 

Cas gives a stiff nod. “You can try; I can't promise that you'll feel anything.” 

 

Dean tries anyway, reaching out slowly. He doesn't exactly grab anything, and his hands pass through the form of them. It's like sticking his hand out the window when he's doing eighty down a back road, and also like dipping his fingers in a cool lake, but all at once. Dean gives a small, amazed laugh, eyes wide, and Cas’ whole body shudders. 

 

Then, they're gone. 

 

“Wow,” Dean says, because that's all there is to say. 

 

Cas blinks open his eyes, frowning. “They don't actually look like that, of course, and that's all I can give you, Dean. I'm truly sorry; I wish I could do more to show you that you do have all of me.” 

 

Dean feels a surge of pure fondness, and gratefulness, and  _ love,  _ right at his center. He moves forward and presses his lips to Cas, giving him a soft, sweet kiss. He tries to convey just how thoughtful the gesture is, just how grateful he is for it, just how in awe he is at having a bundle of power and purpose at his fingertips. He knows there will be no amount of kisses that will be able to tell what he feels, so he tries with words instead. 

 

Just this once. 

 

“I love you,” he breathes, eyes still closed. 

 

Cas hums against his lips, giving him a small peck, murmuring, “I love you as well.” 

 

Dean pulls back, just looking him. “So, what are we now? Please don't say boyfriends.” 

 

“Partners,” Cas says decidedly. “We are partners, Dean, as we always have been, in all things.” 

 

Dean can handle that, so he grins, says, “Alright, partner, let's go get something to eat. Sex makes me hungry.” 

 

“Okay,” Cas agrees, standing up when Dean does. Then a thought seems to hit him, and he frowns at Dean. “Are we telling Sam?” 

 

“Yeah, of course. If we didn't, he'd find out in like ten seconds flat. He's  _ Sam.”  _

 

“What about Jack?” 

 

“Jack's a bit, uh, young to know that we're fucking, so we'll just say we are a couple and leave it at that. Sound good?” Dean asks, tugging on his pants and watching Cas, waiting for his approval. 

 

“I agree,” Cas says with a nod. 

 

“Awesome,” Dean replies with a grin, off to the kitchen with a stupid grin on his face. 

 

Cas follows, a small, pleased smile on his. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Deanna stomps out the back door of the diner, locking it behind her. Cassie taps her foot impatiently, face a careful mask of annoyance. 

 

“Don't rush me,” Deanna snaps, shrugging on her coat. “You're the one who brought me here.” 

 

“I  _ told  _ you-” 

 

“Yes, yes, I know. A world in which we aren't together is a world that will end, blah blah blah.” 

 

Cassie makes a small huff of annoyance. “Just come on, I want to get back home. This world is  _ strange.”  _

 

“Well, yeah,” Deanna agrees with a snort, walking over to stand beside her, “we're  _ dudes  _ here. Can you imagine having dicks?” 

 

“Deanna,” Cassie scolds, lips twitching. 

 

“Wonder what Sammy looks like as a dude.” 

 

“Knowing Samantha, probably tall.” 

 

Deanna chuckles, then shakes out her hands, rolling her shoulders. “So, we did it? We saved the fabric of this world by getting male-shaped us to fuck?” 

 

“Yes,” Cassie says flatly. She tilts her head, eyes dropping closed, then she smiles. “They are declaring their love as we speak.” 

 

“Hey, don't be getting no ideas. Male me is hot, but  _ I'm  _ your Winchester,” Deanna warns, narrowing her eyes a bit. 

 

Cassie arches an eyebrow. “Look who's talking; you practically ate the male version of myself with your eyes.” 

 

Deanna considers this, then offers a sweet smile, reaching over to tug her into a hug. “Yeah, but you're the one I love. Now, come on, take me home.” 

 

“I love you as well,” Cassie murmurs softly, reaching up to brush her fingers over Deanna's temple. 

 

Just like, they're gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and where I would usually ask for comments, I'd rather everyone wish my giftee a belated Happy Holidays, if you will. If you enjoyed at all, just throw a quick well wishes and ill be pleased. Thank you guys, you're the best ❤


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